Of the Downside of Falling Asleep

Girl With Facemask

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I absolutely loathe getting ready for bed, it seems like such a useless activity. All that effort just to what? Pass out and perhaps have a dream or two? It’s silly really.

I’ve always been envious of those who can just fall asleep after splashing water on their face (maybe using a bar of soap) and brushing their teeth. It’s simply not fair. I’ve got my mother’s skin, this means that I’ll be prone to acne for the rest of my life. Over time I’ve learned to control it (most of the time), and words cannot express how talented I am at doing my make-up. I may not do the fancy eyes thing but my foundation skills are top-notch.

I’m also cavity prone despite that I don’t eat an outrageous amount of sugar, brush, floss, and rinse with ACT mouthwash (as suggested by my dentist). This is also not fair. If I start to fall asleep before my nightly routine, or wake up around 2AM after an unplanned nap, I swear I can feel zits forming and cavities burrowing away at my molars. It’s a nasty feeling. Like little semi-dull needles trying to poke out of my face and The Seven Dwarfs hacking at my teeth searching for jewels.

Often I end up getting ready for bed between 2AM and 4AM – this is typically because of my avoidance of the process or pure exhaustion. Even when I’ve been overcome with fatigue all day. When I’m so tired I’m constantly grumbling and whining about how tired I am. When ALL I want is to go to sleep early. Somehow I look at the clock and it’s 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5AM. Then the thought of getting ready for bed is an increasingly dismal one, it’s about a 20 minute process that I never want to do. Sometimes I pass back out, wake up, then finally get ready for bed. Other times I force myself to get up and prepare for slumber.

I’m oh so proud of myself when I perform this hellish nightly routine before I reach the not-so-fun point of procrastinating sleep.

The point is, as much as I love to sleep, I hate getting ready for bed even more. Like, a lot.

Of Cleanliness After 3AM

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I am my mother’s daughter. And yes, I’m aware that is a cliché … but cliché’s are a cliché for a reason.

When I stopped by my parents house after work, about 11:30PM, I saw my mother, sitting on the bathroom floor, a bucket full of chemicals by her side, and a wash cloth in her hand – the whole house smelled like original scent Lysol. She had stripped the bathroom of any small items: toothbrushes, candles, shampoo – be gone! It was time to clean, they would be put back later. I walked in when she was already well into the cleaning process, all that was left was scrubbing the floor and rinsing the green chemicals that filled the sink.

Upon arriving at my house my plan was to do a work out video and go to bed around 1 – 1:30AM.

I ended up watching TV, eating pizza, and uploading the epic Muppets soundtrack to my laptop.

Come 3 o’clock I got up to get ready for bed. My bathroom disgusted me – so I decided to clean it. Much like my mother, I sat on the ground with a bucket of chemicals and detail cleaned EVERYTHING possible. Two hours later my mission was complete. My hands still smell like cleaning products despite numerous hand washing’s and lavender lotion.

I’ve always been this way, as has my mother. If we get the urge to clean something or complete a task, we have to do it right then and there or else it may not get done for weeks. This is why a lot of my best school work gets done at midnight or later – at that moment I felt inspired. This is why I at 1AM I’ll start doing the dishes – I know myself, I’ll put it off if I don’t. And it’s why at 5AM I’ll write a blog post about this quirky behavior of mine – clearly, right after cleaning at such a late hour is the prime time to relay what I just did.

But I must say, my bathroom is sparkling.

Of Late Night Talks

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Last night I did something I haven’t done in a long time.

It’s been years since I let myself go down that road.

Normally I would feel hypocritical, normally I would become bitter and enraged, declare myself as weak or fake.

This time … this time, it felt okay.


I can’t remember the last time I prayed. Talking to myself? Working out my issues mentally? Yes. But engaging with an invisible being that may or may not actually be there? No.

I walked away from the church because I firmly believe that you take none of it, or you take all of it. No picking and choosing. No sex followed by prayer. No swearing because you know you can repent later. No declaring someone’s sins as worse than your own – aka, no justifying your actions because well, at least you’re not gay or you’re not as bad as Hitler. Fun fact, Hitler believed in Jesus, believing in Jesus will get you into heaven – do you really want to worship God for all of eternity (which, by the way, sounds super boring. I can only sing Beautiful One by Jeremy Camp so many times) and see Hitler decked out in white next to you? I have very little respect for those who intentionally go against what they claim as their faith or religion, making mistakes – fine, but to intentionally give in to societal pressures because you think you found a loop-hole in the system – no.

At about 5 in the morning that feeling of loneliness started to kick in. I lied in bed, closed my eyes, and said something similar to the following (and yes I do pray this eloquently – I am a pastor’s kid, plus I’m a creative writer, I got practice):

God, it’s becoming more and more clear that I’m quite gay. The thought of a woman excites me more that a man ever has. But I was raised to believe that this was not okay. I also don’t believe it’s a choice. I guess technically I’m pan-sexual, I don’t believe that someone falls in love with a penis or a vagina, they fall in love with what’s above the belt, a person. If a man comes my way and he’s spectacular, great, if a woman does, also great. I can’t grasp that I would be vetoed from heaven because of who you brought into my life to love. I can’t believe that you’re that cold and heartless.

I left the church because they put you in a box. The human race has created rules that supposedly tell us how to worship this energy that surrounds us, how to govern our life, how to do this, how to do that, and who to love. I have to wonder how many of these rules are cultural, I mean, obviously now it’s okay to wear mixed fibers, braid our hair, and decorate ourselves in jewelry. And we no longer marry multiple spouses or sacrifice animals.

I’m going to love whoever you bring me, man or woman – I’m hoping woman. I don’t want to put you in a box, I think that if you are a you, or if you are just an energy in the sky, that you are a loving energy that won’t foul us on who we end up loving, if we swear, if we drink, or if we have sex out of marriage.

I was hoping that this would reach a conclusion in the end. It’s the creative writer in me, I crave a solid ending. I guess not.


I did feel a bit of that warmth that I used to feel from God. I felt like I was accepted, that God didn’t hate the way I was living my life, closure. I’m not going to start going to church again. I don’t want to go back to that world where God is wrapped up in a to-go box and everyone tells you how to live. That’s not what this was about. This was about finally being able to confront my past while also embracing my future. I was taught that if something is on your chest, pray about it, and I finally did that without feeling like a weak person. I’ve finally moved on from my issues with religion, enough time has passed, the wound is now a scar – a weight has been lifted, and I feel like God or whoever/whatever I was talking to is supportive of me in where I’m heading. My parents may not agree, but, I can’t do much about that.